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A whistle blows, and the train rolls to a halt at the platform. Bakugou doesn’t hesitate to grab his bag because fucking finally, they’ve arrived. Beside him, Deku peels his face off the window he has spent the past half hour smushed against.
Their shoulders bump when Deku springs out the seat, enough that if Bakugou wasn’t as grounded as a fucking rock he would have stumbled. But he didn’t stumble because heroes don’t half-ass anything, from leaving a train with style to saving the world.
Deku nudges him once more, more deliberate than before. Bakugou raises a brow, retaliating with no more than a pointed glance. There’s a time and fucking place to be this childish, and this isn’t it. His reflection in the windows reveal his demeanour is more exasperated than menacing.
Well shit, they both look weary as hell.
Hard lines are etched into the corners of Deku’s eyes, dark circles starting to protrude beneath the array of freckles.
It’s been a tedious long journey to their destination. They’d already taken a flight into America from Japan. After some deliberation, Deku had made the decision they hop on the train instead of a connecting flight. It’s not a fucking holiday, but Bakugou can’t deny they needed the time to exist for the sake of just that and nothing else.
Four hours to kill became four hours to pass. The scenery had at least been something to focus on, carving through striking mountains and vast green horizons. Bakugou had found himself sinking back against the seat, enjoying the view.
That, and the incoherent mumbling into his shoulder, provided plenty entertainment. For future leverage, Bakugou takes great pride in the fact he recorded the whole ridiculous ode to strawberry pocky.
And there it is, amongst the aches beneath his skin and the pressure brewing in his chest - an unfurling lull. Something gentle that is almost dizzying to accept. A different kind of peace, one that isn’t dredged up from the ashes of fire and the battlefield. Tiny bursts crackle away inside him, rather than grand explosions.
If he breathes slow and steady, he can feel it nestled between his bones.
It’s been a while since it eclipsed him like this, and it won’t make a home inside him for long. It never does. Trying to cage the sensation is futile.
For now, he’ll appreciate the moment.
Or he would, if Deku wasn’t having some kind of meltdown right here in the middle of the train. Damn nerd can barely keep his balance, caught in a destructive chasm of excitement and exhaustion. Deku is too swept up in his own corner of reality to realise words are absently spewing from his mouth, eyes sparkling as he surveys the platform outside.
Flicking Deku’s cheek with a finger, Bakugou scoffs. Despite the years that have passed, the chiselled jawline hasn’t quite cancelled out the babyface.
“Oi. Get your shit together! I ain’t gonna carry the whole of our reputation on my shoulders.”
Deku rubs his cheek, mood shifting faster than Bakugou can keep up with. Shoulders sag, which means he’s sulking - of all things. God what a fucking mess. At least Bakugou can say with confidence that his ruffled hair and bloodshot eyes make him a real hot mess.
“Ah… my face is really sore from leaning on the window for so long, Kacchan!”
Bakugou grunts, because it’s the only response he is willing to give up for such a stupid comment.
It’s definitely on purpose, and the childhood name is drawn out for far too long, until it’s a melody in a tasteless song Bakugou never wants to hear again.
Un-fucking-believable.
Even now in their mid twenties this idiot can’t pretend to play the part of a professional grown-up adult. Out of the both of them in their hero partnership, Bakugou is absolutely without question the one better suited and prepared for the mundane tasks of everyday life.
How the new symbol of peace would survive a single day without someone keeping check on his staggering lack of self-preservation is beyond Bakugou’s knowledge. Their kitchen is a Legends-Only Zone, and whilst chores are divided between the pair of them Bakugou finds himself redoing Deku’s out of spite because he knows he can do it ten times fucking better.
He tosses Deku his travel bag. It hits his partner square in the face, but that doesn’t deter the mass of green hair poking out from behind. Big inquisitive eyes pin Bakugou down, leaving nowhere to hide. Whatever the nerd is going to say next, it will be brazen and bold. Bakugou knows that look too well.
Damn this.
“Wow… Kacchan - you’re really calm??”
It’s phrased like a question, to Bakugou’s irritation. The fucking audacity.
“I know you don’t like being still for so long, but I think you really needed this!”
Fuck, it’s too early for observations that border the obnoxious. It’s worse that Deku never fails to hit the nail right on the head with the brutal force a thousand sledgehammers. Sometimes he can be as relentless in his truth-bombs as he is reckless with one for all.
“Shut-up nerd,” hisses Bakugou out of instinct.
Knee-jerk reactions between them from their younger years have tapered into something lighter, and new habits soon emerged. It’s not uncommon now for Bakugou to shove his hand into Deku’s hair and ruffle the shit out of it.
With a wry smile, Deku dons his UA cap as if that has any chance of disguising him and hops off the train. Bakugou follows suit, tugging a simple black and red beanie over his head. Somehow, he’s ended up with both travel bags slung over his shoulder. Figures he’d be coerced into being the fucking lackey.
Whatever the chosen one has packed, it’s heavy as shit compared to Bakugou’s bag. It’s a little concerning, considering how sporadic and excessive Deku is with packing for trips. Maybe he should have been there to supervise. Sure feels like the nerd has brought twelve different types of formal wear and ugly footwear, and they’re all going to be primary colours.
Undoubtedly, Bakugou will be subjected to a stupid parade of these atrocities once they get to the hotel.
Bouncing into step beside him, Deku opens his mouth and out pours a whirlwind of words.
“Aren’t you excited about this conference, Kacchan? There’s never been an event like this before in our lifetime! We’re going to hear from some of the most renowned heroes of this decade and learn all about how heroes work in different parts of the world. Even just looking at the guest speakers makes me wonder if my speech is going to be alright!!”
Oh hell no.
Bakugou is not dealing with this self-depreciation shit. Not before he’s got coffee in his system and they’re in a private space so he can talk openly at whatever volume he wants without people shooting daggers through his back with their eyes. In a world of quirks, that might even be a literal possibility one day. Fuck that. He isn’t dying in such a stupid way.
“Tch,” hands shoved into his pockets, Bakugou huffs. “Course it’s gonna be alright, I read it over for you didn’t I?”
A fond smile tickles Deku’s lips, as his fingers stretch out to wiggle. He looks expectant. God. Blinking slow, Bakugou watches the gesture. Just because he might have possibly indulged Deku’s request after a few too many beers to make a secret Plus Ultra handshake doesn’t mean he’s going to do that shit in public. Or ever again.
Give an inch, Deku will take a fucking mile.
“No.”
The station is bigger than Bakugou thought it would be. Once off the platform, they take multiple tunnels underground follow by several flights of stairs. At one point Deku insists they stop to look at the map, but resorting to help in such a way is fucking not happening. Turns out they didn’t need it anyway because a few moments later, the stairway opens up to the main lobby.
A grand golden arch frames the glass ceiling. The more he looks, the more impressive it is. Marble pillars run on adjacent sides of the room, engraved with intricate patterns. From above, the morning sunlight illuminates the room, casting towering shadows from the pillars. With the backdrop of people on their usual morning commutes, it’s easy to slip into the crowd unnoticed. Deku suggesting they travelled at a time where most people are caught up in their own heads had admittedly been a pretty smart fucking idea.
“So where do we get the car?”
He vaguely remembers Deku mentioning hiring one for them. The thought piques his interest, enough for it to show, apparently, if the knowing smile is anything to go by. There’s something satisfying about driving, falling into the everyday normalcy of a new town or city. Being in control of something trivial and simple, it’s nice. Therapeutic, like yelling at fuckwads on the roads who don’t know how to drive.
Getting picked up in flashy black limousines or being chauffeured around is hardly their scene. They don’t need any of that shit to make an entrance. Their presence and status as partners is respected enough as they climb up the ranks. Bakugou has always been adamant they keep their appearances real and honest. No cheap flaunts of cash that would be better off going towards their rent or food. Neither of them are the number one hero - yet.
“It’s already sorted.”
Deku fishes the car keys from his pocket, throws them over.
Catching them, Bakugou narrows his eyes. That’s a damn fast turnaround, even for Deku. More so for someone who spent most of the train journey drooling on his shoulder. It’s when Deku reaches for his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, that the suspicions grow.
“All the details of the car and registration number are attached to the key, as you can see, and it’s waiting in the drop-off zone. It’s all fine and going to plan!!”
It’s official, the nerd is acting Weird. His words pick up pace, eyes darting across the room and pointedly avoiding Bakugou. That makes it obvious. Deku has always been terrible at hiding shit, which is why it continues to be the eighth wonder of the world he hasn’t accidentally blabbed to the entire world about one for all.
A true miracle of their time.
“Oi, what’s going on?”
“Uh- well! We’re just going to the car w-weren’t we? What else would be going on?? Haha…-” Deku trails off with a shaky wave of his hand, devolving into a series of mutters.
The slight quiver in his voice is all Bakugou needs to hear, the little shit is up to something.
Perhaps it’s karma that he now has to tilt his chin up to meet Deku’s eyes. Damn nerd is a fraction taller than him, there’s no pretending it’s not true. Maybe once upon a time those inches would have been towering, casting shadows larger than they ought to above his head, it’s nothing more than a passing meagre annoyance.
They tucked the fucking bullshit into bed in their second year, then dared to dream again. Deku doesn’t hold anything over him, not even something as stupid as his height.
“Try again.”
Bakugou studies the growing flush on Deku’s cheeks. It’s a dead giveaway.
“N-nothing’s going on, I promise Kacchan!!”
Bold of Deku to think he can lie to Bakugou Katsuki's face.
They may be partners, but he has every reason to be on guard. Outside of the workplace, Deku is a fucking menace. He meddles in people’s business almost as much as he meddles with villain’s secret affairs. He can read the room in a heartbeat and pluck secrets from every corner. The worst part is nobody besides a select few would ever believe that. The public are deluded enough to paint a golden halo over Deku’s head like a saint or some holy shit like that.
Yeah. If only they knew.
With a sigh, Bakugou decides to be the bigger person and let it fucking drop. Whatever. They have places to be. He can pry the information out of his partner later. Best they don’t draw attention to themselves in the middle of the station lobby.
They’re fortunate not to have been hounded by the bloodthirsty press yet. Bakugou would very much like to keep it that way thank fucking you.
“You coming or what?”
The wobbly smile grows.
“Ah. Sorry Kacchan.”
The fucker doesn’t sound sorry. In fact, if Bakugou didn’t know any better, he’d say Deku sounds pleased about something. Too pleased. Fixing him a glare, Bakugou awaits an explanation. He’s being extremely patient, giving the nerd half a second’s leeway to cut the crap.
“Just-! You go take the car. I’ll see you at the hotel later, I have some things to take care of first! And so do you!”
Before Bakugou can ask what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, his partner is gone. From the gasps of excitement around him, Deku definitely left his side surrounded by green lightning. Okay. Right. So he really activated one for all and blew his own cover to run away.
Dramatic little shit.
Picking up a bottle of water from the station’s corner shop, Bakugou makes his way towards the drop-off zone. Once again, it’s a needlessly complex ordeal to get from one place to the other in this station. If only he could blast his way through the unnecessary labyrinth of pathways, it would probably be a fuck lot quicker.
He sends Deku three passive-aggressive texts for his stunt, considers what kind of payback he can deliver at the hotel without getting either of them in serious trouble. Giving him a faulty cardkey and making a shit tonne of bizarre room-service requests to Deku’s room from his own are two of the main contenders.
He’s greeted by clear blue skies and the morning sun at the drop-off zone. Bakugou scans the area, checks over the details of the car. The modest silver car matching the description isn't hard to find. Fucking bingo. He heads towards it. Ha-fucking-ha. Rest in pieces Deku, it’s going to be an entertaining night.
Lips twitching, Bakugou takes a swig of the water.
Then he chokes on it because holy shit now he’s close enough he can see through the tinted glass that there’s someone sitting in their hire car, like a fucking weirdo.
They step out, the door slamming is louder than it should be between them.
“Oh.”
Just a single word, a small exclamation, and Bakugou knows. Of course he does. No matter what, he’d recognise that voice anywhere, pluck it out of a crowd with ease. After graduation, he sought it out amidst a villain fight. For years, he dared to coax it out of the silence into his trembling hands, feel the rumbling tones of it crash against his chest and then his lips. Both familiar and distant, in a way that is far too bruising. More, it’s poignant. The pang in his chest is sharp and painful but so fucking perfect.
Just one word, and the impact is overwhelming. Hard to predict and harder to experience. Every fibre of his being is unprepared for this. His heart stutters without permission, throwing his pulse into a racing inconsistent rhythm. Each breath rattles, shivers more than it’s supposed to and it’s a betrayal of something far more terrifying than weakness. A chill rises, curls around every joint in his spine as that voice envelops him completely.
Cruel in the biting clarity, it’s him it has to be holy fuck it’s really him, kinder in the sheer depth of it.
Shit. He realises it then. And it’s devastating, how a voice has such power over him, how it can steal this and so much more from his soul.
After all this time, it’s the fucking same.
The raw desperation crawling up his fingers and leaving an uncomfortable burning there that has nothing to do with tangible fire is exactly the same. He wants to chase it, delve into the hollow broken notes of that voice and pry them apart until the warmth bleeds out between them and only them. Just them. To hear hushed words under the pale light of a waning moon creeping through the curtains, or a low laugh rippling over the sunset.
Their eyes meet. It’s too much too fast and yet not soon enough. There’s no tracing over cheekbones and pursed lips, no stealing quick or tentative glances at each other. In the place of slow anticipation is something far more compelling that is impossible to back down from. Bakugou isn’t sure why he’s so shaken by the uncompromising intensity their mutual candour brings. But he sure is. Neither of them play fair when it counts. It cleaves him open without mercy, knocking the breath from his lungs enough for his hands to twitch with it.
Fuck. Those eyes.
It’s been years since the last time he had the chance to see the wonders they hold up close, lose himself in them. Bakugou can say with confidence that the interviews on television don’t do those eyes justice. Nothing quite does.
It’s a fucking travesty and a delight, to be caught in such a mesmerising trap. All the time spent apart press on shoulders. A handful of golden years between them are now wisps of silver splattered across the skyline. Amidst the stars it still twinkles, in sight yet out of reach. But the stars aren't shining in this sky, it's the wrong time for it.
“You’re not Midoriya,” Todoroki manages.
And just like that, the moment splinters. Something unpleasant lurches in Bakugou’s gut, has his palms itching to open wide. Todoroki and Deku have always been buddy-buddy. It’s not jealousy that shackles Bakugou to his wounded pride, it’s confusion. And it’s tinged with the kind of fear that spreads like a lethal poison.
Because even with years of practice, reading Todoroki and not misunderstanding what really was on the pages had been an intricate craft difficult to master. Here, Bakugou has no fucking clue what this bastard is thinking. The words could be a playful joke delivered in a monotone, or a simple statement of the truth.
Maybe it’s pathetic to let insecurity set itself ablaze inside his chest, smother him completely until it chokes all rational thought. But it’s too late now. All he can do is rely on survival instincts to pull him through this half-conversation.
Without anything anchoring him, all he can do is fight. Aimless and haphazard. It manifests as a bitter thing that bites.
“Sorry to fucking disappoint you.”
His voice is too uneven, revealing more than he wants it to. Fuck. This is too much. Lingering here has been a mistake, a big one. The consequences fall only on his own shoulders, will haunt him into the solitude of the night. Longer, even.
Unlocking the car, Bakugou throws his bag into the trunk. It lands with a thud, knocking the back of the carseats enough for them to shake. He slams the trunk shut, marching towards the driver’s door with more ferocity than necessary. It’s the only way he can commit to this action. To falter now would be fucking catastrophic. Turn the ignition on. Accelerate. Fast. Don’t look back. Get out of there. Don’t watch Todoroki fade into obscurity in the mirror. Don’t fucking look back. Don’t-
“Katsuki! Wait.”
Releasing the door as it swings open, Bakugou lets go a shaky exhale. Eyes wide, he struggles to regather his composure. But now his firm action has surrendered to something less secure. He can’t move, frozen in place by the gravity of it. Katsuki.
Todoroki speaks his name with urgency, and a reverence that doesn’t belong there. But it’s right there. Bold and beautiful, his given name handled like something sacred. Anticipation thrums beneath his veins, an insatiable yearning to understand. Say something you gorgeous bastard, anything.
“I’m not disappointed, I was just surprised to see you. But it makes sense if Midoriya is here, you would be too.”
That fucker set them up, Bakugou knows it. He’ll deal with that later. Currently, he’s unsure whether to thank the idiot or scold him for being an idealistic sappy piece of shit who loves to meddle in everyone’s business.
Hands rest over Bakugou’s, breaking his thoughts. One is cool, the other a little warmer. That hasn’t changed much, though the temperature between them is a little more balanced. It’s instinctive, the way his fingers curl into the touch.
It should be embarrassing because Bakugou is far too aware of the sweat gathering across his skin that has nothing to do with his quirk and everything to do with his nerves. But Todoroki makes no grand show of pointing it out, probably because there’s an uncharacteristic tremble to his own hands.
That’s a mild reassurance, to see some kind of proof that Todoroki isn’t as put together as he seems to be. Bakugou isn’t going to delude himself, but fuck his foolish dumbass heart might already be way past that.
With a light squeeze that has something fierce swell within, Todoroki pries the keys from Bakugou’s hands.
“Allow me.”
It takes a fucking lot of self-control not to lace their fingers once more under the guise of reaching back for the keys. That firm yet careful touch sparks an uncomfortable sensation that gnaws at his skin with no fucking respite. It’s a kind of inferno that can’t be smothered, raging through him. Entirely self-destructive. But how the fuck he went years without this, Bakugou isn’t sure.
Strange, that the gap in his life Todoroki once filled feels larger than it ever has before.
Despite being this close, the distance far more tangible. It’s not just space that wedges itself between shoulders, it’s years. Time and all the things it steals away with it have unfurled slow and steady. All the highs and lows, once shared in the hush of the night, now are experienced from the outside. Some are even hidden from view.
Questions race through his mind. He has no right to ask them, losing that luxury when they threw up their hands and set the thing budding between them aside. God.
Todoroki starts the car. As it sputters into life, something tucked away into the deepest crevasse of his heart claws its way out. He doesn’t like it, being on the outside. Not with Todoroki. It's wrong. That is conviction enough to take a step forward. Become just a fraction closer, hover on the outskirts of his orbit.
Wordless, Bakugou slips into the passenger seat. The sharp snap of the seatbelt clicking into place is almost jarring. It prompts action. In one swift motion, more quiet and subdued than Bakugou remembers, Todoroki steers the car out the drop-off zone.
The skyscrapers paint the horizon silver. Bakugou watches the city as they drive. People swarm the pavements, cementing the next part of their stories with every step. It makes the car seem too small and far too fucking slow. The traffic moves in steady waves, and they’re rolling with it. This kind of stasis is different to being on a train, or strapping into a plane ready to takeoff. It’s more private, leaves nowhere to hide.
There’s no destruction, no villain reports to fight back. Yet Bakugou sits amongst ruins dredged up from a real fucking intense storm that never really ended. Not really. There’s a hurricane in his chest, and sweeps through him with no remorse. Shit.
Every inch of his body is a livewire, too clocked into the person sat across from him. A static charge tickles his skin, not born from quirks or powers. It’s something stronger, capable of enduring any counterattack. To stamp it out his system or scream back would give it an opening, let it win.
Maybe it already has, and fuck maybe he wants it to.
Despite Deku’s masterplan, the absurdity of it all doesn’t escape Bakugou’s notice. He too can be perceptive as fuck, he just doesn’t blab about it.
“What the hell are you doing here, Icyhot?”
The nickname withers on his tongue, breaking into a cadence that doesn’t fit in his mouth. There’s too much to chew on, too much to swallow. There’s no way he can digest this old habit or bleed it out. Something so trivial has become an anomaly, a piece that fits no puzzle and has no place in the life he has built himself.
Todoroki hums, the shadows of the trees above them cast intricate patterns across his face through the sunroof.
“I just finished a job in the next town over.”
Something drops in Bakugou’s stomach. He hadn’t seen Todoroki’s name on the list, but hope can be such a stupid unshakeable thing lacking logic or reason.
“So… you’re not going to the conference?”
“No. It clashes with my next job. I’m going back to Japan tomorrow.”
Of course he is. Bakugou turns his face to the window, hoping it’s enough of a shield. Whatever slips over his face, Todoroki shouldn’t have the luxury of glimpsing what resides between hard sharp blinks of his heavy eyes. Tugging his lip between his teeth, he bites down.
Everything outside loses focus, devolving to messy patterns of colours and shapes. Reality is an intangible kaleidoscope around them, drifting further from their hands.
Fuck. Already, they’re on a countdown, time limited. The ache in his bones is as dramatic as it is tragic, he needs to get it together. Fast.
“It seems like the universe is keen to keep us on opposite sides of the globe at all times.”
Bakugou startles at that. Todoroki only really resorts to these off-kilter jokes when he’s really desperate to stall for time. He did it a hell of a lot on their first few dates, when things had been surrounded by exciting uncertainty, and on the train to meet Bakugou’s parents for the first time. They’re not normally this bitter or jaded. Huh.
“Yeah,” is all Bakugou finds himself able to say.
That hadn’t stopped them after graduation, though, had it? Varying jobs and long work hours hadn’t held them back, nor had crushing exhaustion. In fact, the days either of them entered the apartment listless and quiet without a greeting had been some of the calmest evenings Bakugou can recall.
Tangled up in each other, grumbling occasional words or none at all. Existence serving no purpose or pretences. Just their hearts beating and their lungs breathing in tandem. Something hot pokes Bakugou’s eyes, prickling heat dipping behind closed eyelids.
The train had been peaceful, close to how it felt. But not quite. These things are difficult to replicate, impossible to forget even if Bakugou wants to burn it out his fucking skin and scatter the ashes. Sitting here, the embers of a fire that should’ve died are rekindled.
“How’s your mother?”
A lady with tired but kind eyes: Todoroki Rei. Haunted but continuing to find beauty in each day. Todoroki has his mother’s eyes, the same poignancy plagued them when he thinks nobody is watching. And they’re both healing, striving to become the best they can be in a way that has nothing to do with hero rankings or popularity.
Todoroki expelled his demons, fought them off with force and raw firm actions. They didn’t completely disappear, and they always find new faces and new places to hide. So really, he never stops fighting. But even that is so understated, tinged in a private melancholy. Trauma can punch pretty fucking hard, but Todoroki punches back harder.
The person Todoroki is today, it's someone Bakugou is so fucking proud of.
“She’s been well.” Todoroki clears his throat, deliberating his next words. “She asks about you a lot, you know.”
“So do mine,” Bakugou manages over his unsteady pulse. “They send their love and shit.”
“Oh,” Todoroki sounds surprised, as if he hadn’t just exchanged with Bakugou the exact the same truth, as if he's surprised by it. “That’s nice of them.”
That bristles Bakugou. “They don’t ask to be nice, they ask because they care.”
“You haven't asked.”
But I still care. Sighing, Bakugou summons the will of a thousand. It takes a lot not to counter back with the kind of childish remarks Aizawa would shrivel into exasperation from hearing. But age has taught him some lessons. Bakugou isn’t going to set himself for total self-sabotage. Just enough to keep him on the edge.
“How are you?” asks Todoroki.
“Fine, I guess. You?”
“Alright. Better for seeing you, actually.”
It catches him off guard, even if Bakugou feels the same. Amidst the nervous tension and jittery energy, he’s felt it too. A comfort, returning home. Family - that’s what Todoroki had become.
Glancing over, Bakugou takes his time rediscovering that face up close. The slope of his nose is softer, cheekbones a little more chiselled and hollowing out each side. But that might be because he’s lost some weight, not enough to be a major concern but enough for his face to seem more weathered than it should be. The shadows under his eyes curve deep, more like gaping craters. It’s a contrast against his pale skin.
Everyone is a little tired, sure. But Todoroki looks like he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep and a home cooked meal in months.
Irritation builds up, Bakugou almost snaps with it. The instinct to nurture this incapable fucker is hard to ignore. Like it or not, Bakugou has always been the passive aggressive mother-hen of people he cares for. It surfaced most prominently in their second year and became somewhat of a running gag between his awful friends.
In his defence, the dumb fucks can’t take of themselves so someone has to give them a clue. If they had died from food poisoning or something before being pro-heroes that would just be pathetic.
Eyes sweeping up to Todoroki’s hair, he’s a little more satisfied with what he finds. Swept into a messy bun, strands falling to frame his face. It must be past his shoulders by now, at least. Bakugou wonders if it would still glide between his fingers smoothly.
“Your hair looks real fucking nice."
“I thought it was about time I grew it out,” Todoroki says, something wistful caught in his voice. “You were always saying I should.”
That’s true. And Bakugou is satisfied to know he was right about it looking good, but it’s not like he can share that with the fucking class anymore. A small noise breaks past Todoroki’s lips.
“You haven’t changed.”
Bakugou bristles on impulse. It doesn’t sound like an insult but he’s no longer sure what their boundaries are. The click of his tongue must be louder than he plans because Todoroki elaborates. His eyes are locked on the road. Still.
“It’s not a bad thing. People change for all kinds of reasons. You’ve always known who you are and who you wanted to be. Nothing could topple that. Even since we were in school, you were unashamedly yourself. It’s inspiring, really.”
What the fuck.
Someone needs to arrest Todoroki because it’s criminal how his words can have this much of an impact on Bakugou. There’s being blunt, and then there’s Todoroki Shouto.
Yeah. It’s going to be a real fucking trip to the hotel.
“What the hell is this shit?”
He can’t pretend the low thudding beat of the radio is pissing him off. Todoroki always kept background music at that annoying level that hovers in the peripheral, with not quite enough detail to enjoy but just enough to be aware there is noise coming from somewhere.
In their dorms, Bakugou is convinced the idiot did it out of spite. In their apartment, Todoroki had definitely done it out of spite.
Now, Bakugou isn’t sure. But he’s not dealing with such a half-assed approach to listening when he doesn’t have to.
Eyes trained on the road, Todoroki shrugs.
“I’m not sure, I just left it on the automated setting.”
There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, more conspicuous when the sunlight peaks through the trees. But each time Bakugou thinks he can trace the curve of it, it’s gone. How dare he be so elusive and suave without trying to be. Or maybe he is trying, and the coy aversion means something more. He did offer to drive Bakugou to the hotel.
They’ve taken numerous wrong turns, adding more time to their journey. Part of Bakugou thinks Todoroki is just pretending to be bad at following the directions, stalling for time. Shaking the thought, Bakugou frowns.
No way, he can’t pull this shit on himself. He’s not going to sit here scrutinising every gesture and squeezing out every potential meaning like Deku would. Although, that kind of sharp analytical eye for subtle details would be handy right now.
“Well, this sucks.”
For all Todoroki knows, he’s talking about the radio, and that’s fine because that also fucking sucks. Mind made up, he chases Todoroki’s eyes to no avail. Okay. Maybe he’s going to have to throw some more signs out. Breath hitching, he purses his lips.
“Hope you don’t mind, I’m mixing things up.”
“Go ahead, by all means.”
Bakugou pulls out his phone, connecting it up to the car. As he scrolls through his library, a childish part of him wonders if he can somehow catch Todoroki off guard with his choice in music. Not much has changed in his tastes over the years they separated, but he must have something up his sleeve to surprise the other. Something to make him laugh, or shoot a withering unimpressed look Bakugou’s way.
His eyes trail down the list of songs absently, head leaning back against the glass. From his position, he’s at a good angle to flick his attention over to Todoroki without seeming too keen. Or just staring in that unashamed obvious way Todoroki hasn’t done yet, which stings more than he wants it to.
Todoroki used to look at Bakugou, all the fucking time. Damn bastard has kept his eyes on the road the entire drive. Road safety is certainly applaudable, and whoop-de-fucking-doo Todoroki passes all the tests with flying colours. But honestly, Bakugou couldn’t give a shit about that right now.
Losing the battle for Todoroki’s attention to mid-morning traffic is just unacceptable.
Embarrassing, even.
Todoroki’s fingers tap insistently against the steering wheel. It’s a gesture Bakugou knows is one born from a swell of anxious energy. Todoroki used to rap his fingers against Bakugou’s side on the train home from UA, against the table awaiting their first dinner as a couple with his siblings. He tapped his fingers at the hospital before his mother got discharged. He had tapped his thumb against a clenched palm whenever recalling something unpleasant.
Then again, it wasn’t always something nervous and uncomfortable. He’d drum his fingers on Bakugou’s chest on those rare lazy sunday mornings, trying to match the heartbeat beneath his hands. Then, he’d drag slower taps over Bakugou’s wrist. Sometimes, when being a playful sleepy shit he’d repeatedly prod Bakugou’s face until the silly stalemate broke and Bakugou agreed to turn his head just enough for their lips to graze.
Any-fucking-way.
Bakugou grips the phone tight as a song creeps on screen. Right towards the bottom of his list it sits, holding far too much power over him. Amongst the thousands of songs in the library, it had slipped under the radar for a while. It makes sense. Bakugou had no reason to play this song or even think about it.
Listening to it alone would be too fucking depressing, the words now housing secrets. A special meaning forged in years of memories. Only one other person in the entire fucking world would understand the significance of this song to Bakugou, would read between all the lines.
And that one person is sat right across from him, fingers tapping more insistent across the steering wheel.
Fuck it.
Bakugou presses play, steels himself because this is such a stupid idea. This isn’t just a song, it’s raw exposure. A kind of vulnerability that leaves nowhere to hide. He strives to sound neutral when he speaks. To his dismay, his words catch in his throat and jump awkwardly off his tongue.
“How’s this?”
It’s strange, that despite being a pro hero this feels like one of the bravest things he’s ever done in his life.
Recognition flashes over Todoroki’s face slowly as the first few chords stretch between them. Like sunlight spilling over the horizon. And this time, Todoroki does really smile. It crinkles his eyes, has a small disbelieving laugh sneak past his lips. There’s a fondness etched into his face, all tension in his shoulders seeping away.
“Good.”
For the first time, Bakugou is glad Todoroki isn’t looking his way. At least from here he can say the twinkling of those eyes and the warm glow of his skin is simply a clever trick of the light.
This is exactly the kind of spiral Bakugou shouldn’t be indulging. But by the final swell of the song, the pyre just won’t fucking burn. This isn’t something to purge. Bakugou can’t sweat this fever out his system, can’t explode it all away.
Long after the song finishes, the echoes of it ripple over them. It’s a strange sensation, not unwelcome. Whilst it feast on lost souls, that crushing catharsis has bound them together here.
And in the remnants of bittersweet rapture, they drink down the quiet. Even when their lives were entangled, they would have moments where they could slip into it without the need for words. Bakugou had learnt the language in Todoroki’s eyes, the small movements of his body and Todoroki had always been rather perceptive, capable of seeing more than he should.
As much as Bakugou wants to chase the final whispers of the music, it’s too late for that.
The phone in his pocket vibrates, followed by the customised text tone set-up for Deku. Recorded by himself, in the most monotone unaffected voice he could possibly muster. And because there is no God and the universe fucking hates him, Deku appears to be in a mass-texting mood. Fucking great.
He scrambles for his phone, trying and failing to beat the onslaught of incoming messages. Shit. Fuck. This is so uncool.
Behind the wheel, Todoroki wheezes, choking on a laugh he doesn’t know what to do with. Heat rises in Bakugou’s cheeks, but he isn’t blushing. That’s ridiculous. Deku can try all he wants to make his life a shoujo manga - it ain’t happening.
“...Die?” Todoroki asks, biting down on a wobbly smile that shakes almost as much as his voice.
It had been funny at the time, recording a personalised tone for Deku. Even funnier when it first went off in front of the other. Amongst dumb and drunk friends at the bar, it had caused a ruckus of loud laughter.
But it’s not so funny now, in a space small enough for Bakugou’s heart to jump out his mouth and explode. This is one inside joke Todoroki is seeing from the outside. It’s uncomfortable. Part of him feels compelled to explain the whole fucking thing from its early conception to the orchestration of it, ensure Todoroki doesn’t get the wrong idea or think he’s still a massive bag of dicks to his hero partner behind closed doors.
Yeah. His life is a fucking mess.
Unlocking his phone, Bakugou reads the messages.
[deku] it was for your own good kacchan
[deku] i’m not sorry, i just hope you make the most of this chance. talk to him okay??
[deku] i know you can do it.
[deku] talk, i mean
[deku] ＼(●~▽~●)
Cheeky little shit. Before Bakugou can type his heated reply made up of only capital letters, the phone in the glovebox buzzes. It has to be Todoroki’s. There’s no more ceremony about it. It's just a standard and far more dignified text tone.
“Keep driving. I’ll take care of that fucker-“
“-Bakugou, wait!”
A hand jumps from the gearstick, the car jolts a fraction. But Bakugou is quicker to grab the phone.
He taps in a series of numbers. Part of him is surprised the pass code hasn’t changed after all this time, another part completely and utterly fixated on the background photo that reveals itself.
The text messages popping up on screen from Deku are ignored, but Bakugou does make note of how much more polite and considerate his partner is to Todoroki. Whatever. He’ll open that can of sour worms later. Right now, there’s a bigger issue staring him in the face.
“The fuck is this?”
Bakugou knows what it is, like he could forget this moment. One of their first pro-hero fights, the aftermath captured by Deku. A mop of messy green hair beams behind the phone whilst he snaps the picture with trembling hands. Kirishima is closeby, punching a fist through the air out of shot.
Waves of adrenaline surge through their veins, riding it is one of the only things keep them all standing. But they were naive as fuck after graduation despite the shitload of experience they had garnered fighting villains. Apparently that self-preservation all went out the fucking window, until the almighty catastrophic crash the next morning.
The slight blur around their bodies only adds more emotion than takes from it. Bakugou is staring directly at the camera, flipping it off whilst sporting a grin that stretches across his whole face. Dirt and debris cover his skin, smeared with his sweat. But it didn’t matter - it’s the happiest he’s ever been.
Beside him stands Todoroki, eyes fixed on Bakugou. There’s a softness to his gaze that is unbidden and unrestrained. The smile on his face is wide and wild. His expression caught in the middle of a rapturous laugh born from exhaustion and fondness in the aftermath of a tough battle.
The sun pokes through the overcast clouds above them, illuminating Todoroki’s face like he’s some kind of ethereal angel. Later that night, Bakugou kissed every bruise on his skin and Todoroki picked him apart with deliberate calculating slowness. And between small murmurs and licks of heat pooling in his gut, Bakugou had finally said something out loud.
None of that is apparent in the photo to a stranger’s eyes, but it’s all there. Deku could win fucking awards for this photo, it has as much subtlety and nuance as a renaissance painting. It’s overwhelming.
He also has a copy of this photograph somewhere on his phone, sometimes is tempted to look at it. He never does, because it’s masochistic and ruining even by his standards. Yet Todoroki has it as his home screen.
There is no fucking normal or rational explanation for this. Which could just mean that maybe he’s as lost in their fucking love as Bakugou.
It’s with urgency Bakugou strains against the seatbelt to lean forwards. Enough bullshit.
“Answer me, Shouto.”
Screw playing nice, Todoroki didn’t think about the consequences of using his given name earlier. It’s left an uncomfortable burning in his chest. So this has everything to do with Bakugou returning the favour and nothing to do with the yearning beneath his bones to speak that name again.
Todoroki hasn’t said a word, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. There’s a hint of panic creeping into his expression, hands clutching the steering wheel. It’s started to freeze over and when Todoroki lets out a shaky breath it’s more like an icy wind.
Fuck. Okay. In hindsight, maybe Bakugou had been a little unfair in his interrogation. Hand raking through his hair, Bakugou sighs.
“Pull over.”
At that, Todoroki finally glances over. Amidst the vulnerable honesty in his eyes, is something incredulous. In any other circumstance it would be amusing.
“You can’t drive. You’re sweating too much.”
Wiping his palms on his trousers, Bakugou hisses. He has no intention of driving. Blowing up the hire car is probably even more of a costly bill than freezing the engine. Not that Bakugou would blow it up. The implication from Todoroki he’s not in control of his emotions is fucking rude, for starters. It might be a little bit true, but still crosses a line the pair of them had drawn up some time ago.
Despite the lack of answer, Todoroki pulls into a lay-by. The engine thrums between them, filling the silence that for the first time is actually really fucking uncomfortable. Opening the door, Bakugou can’t help smirk at the way Todoroki clutches the gearstick tighter.
“I’m not getting behind the wheel.” Voice softening to a sickening degree Bakugou will never admit to, he cocks his head. “Let’s take a walk.”
With a brisk nod, Todoroki turns off the engine. Then as if it’s the most normal thing to do in the world, he reaches into the backseat to tug an early era Ground Zero cap onto his head. It's black and orange with an explosion, the initials GZ sprawled across it.
Bakugou always thought the first set of merchandise was stupid and now he has confirmation because Todoroki looks dumb as fuck. Even so, seeing him in official Ground Zero merchandise is Doing Things to his heart.
It’s been years, those caps are definitely no longer for sale. A majority of his merchandise now focuses on the phenomenon that is the ‘Wonder Duo’.
“You paid money for that shit?” Bakugou asks with a scoff, truly disgusted that the urge to take a picture grows. God.
“Not a great deal,” Todoroki says. His smile is wry and elusive as he locks the car.
Wait a fucking minute.
“Are you calling me cheap?”
“You said it, not me.”
Despite the quip, Todoroki’s motions are far too wired. It betrays the nonchalance he is striving for. That incessant tap of his fingers now drills into his thighs. There’s a light spring to his steps that makes them inconsistent.
Bakugou shoves his hands deep into his pockets. It’s a better option than playing the agonising game of seeing how often their hands can accidentally brush. They’re not teenagers falling dizzy in love anymore, reckless in chasing the rush.
No, this is a fragile thing that has somehow endured. It’s flourished in the vacancy, roots woven deeper around their bones. Bakugou feels the tug, has felt it since the second he left the station and heard that fucking voice calling out to him.
In these circumstances, they should be nothing more than estranged colleagues, fucking strangers. It’s tragic how natural they’ve fallen into orbit again. Because all that happened should be in their past, not splayed out across each second that passes. It shouldn’t be lining the horizon, as if Todoroki has place there at the start and end of each day.
But here it is, here he is. And Todoroki has made it under his skin, crawled deep into his chest in a way that is impossible to shake and so god damn unfair.
The universe can be such a fucking dick.
“It’s nice weather for walking. I wonder if it will hold out…” observes Todoroki in a way that is so unlike him it drags a spluttered mess of laughter out of Bakugou’s mouth. Christ.
Maybe it sounds rude, but he’s not laughing at Todoroki. Not completely. Because smalltalk is not something on Todoorki’s agenda - ever. He’s not the kind of person to exchange pleasantries for the sake of filling up silence. So the fact this handsome adorable idiot is trying to engage in boring conversations has to mean he’s backed himself into one pretty small corner.
“Nah. You don’t have to do that."
That fierce swell of affection in his chest needs to take a fucking hint and pipe down. It merely grows when Todoroki looks over in mild confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s fine if you can't think of shit to say. We can just walk or whatever.”
No words are better than empty ones. Breath hitching, Bakugou chances sneaking a look across to Todoroki. Their eyes meet as he continues to speak.
“Just us here, right?”
Us.
Todoroki relaxes a little at the words. He gives a firm nod before stepping into sync with Bakugou once more.
“Right,” he agrees.
They follow the river, an arched spine of the city around them. It leads them off the pavement framing the main road, and down to the grass. Bakugou isn’t sure how long they walk for, how many steps they take. What he does know is he sure as hell wants it to last.
Blue skies above surrender to grey overcast clouds. They’re not stormy ones. But the undertone of something stormy continues to run its course through Bakugou. Sharp breaths and sharper blinks.
Storms aren’t a problem. He’s used to explosive power bursting from his palms, splitting his skin open the same brilliant way lightning pierces the sky. He can deal with the rumble in his chest, the turbulence each punch of sound brings. All of that is fine.
He just needs to hold back the fucking rain.
Halfway across a footbridge, they stop to admire the swirling waters below. Leaning against the railings, their shoulders brush. Bakugou finds himself drowning in Todoroki’s reflection, more so in how it stares right back at him.
Their hands graze each other’s, tentative in the exploration. And that’s the confirmation. Bakugou snakes his fingers into place, curling them to clasp. Todoroki stares blankly at their entangled hands, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. Stroking his thumb over Todoroki’s skin, slow small circles he knows for a fact are lethal, Bakugou tears his gaze from the water.
He searches Todoroki’s face carefully. Todoroki presses into the touch. Something imploring flashes in his wide eyes as the space dwindles between them. Bakugou almost doesn’t catch it, but he’s glad he does.
No words are exchanged. They don’t need to be. What is spoken here and now is heard and it’s as terrifying as it is amazing.
Then, as if snapping out of a daze, Todoroki startles. Their hands are pried apart, and Bakugou isn’t sure that is supposed to be so bruising. But fuck - it really is. To be this close now, is torture.
“We should probably get going,” gasps Todoroki, eyes widening. The words leave him in an uncharacteristic rush, as if winded. “You… you only have a few hours left to check in.”
A tightness builds in his chest that won’t subside.
Bakugou watches Todoroki walk away.
Eyes trained low, he follows.
It’s almost mechanical, the way they get back on the road. Todoroki starts the engine, they buckle their seatbelts. They pull off into the steady stream of traffic. Todoroki shifts the gear. The quiet between them now is different, and it’s not a pleasant one. All the air is charged with brewing tension that is far too weighted.
They’re dancing on thin fucking ice, and there will be a cataclysmic crack beneath them any moment now. Where that will leave them, Bakugou isn’t sure. But it’s got to be better than stewing in an endless fucking series of could-have-beens. Meditating on shit like that for too long is unhealthy.
Maybe what they both need is closure. Coax this thing into the open and squeeze out the final dregs. Quirks aside, they both have the power to do it. But even so, just the thought of it sets him on edge. Composure teeters on a precarious tipping point. It’s getting harder to catch a breath. Shit.
Burning bridges, that’s how the saying goes. The fucking irony. Back on that bridge, the river running beneath them, a chance had surfaced.
Fists clenching, Bakugou finds the pressure grounding. The sweat in his palms a comfort. Sometimes you don’t get what you fucking want. Life isn’t a free for all, or easy. As Pro-heroes, they both have experienced their fair share of dark days. It’s having the courage to make tough calls and stick by them that keeps you moving forwards.
The sign for the hotel is a grim reminder. They’re running out of time.
“Why did we, you know.” Bakugou pointedly looks away. To ask this burning question is too much exposure.
“I’m not really sure,” Todoroki admits after a beat. “It just kind of happened. We were together, then we weren’t.”
The ambiguity pisses Bakugou off. It’s worse Bakugou doesn’t have anything to counter with. Hearing it out loud, stretched out between them sucks. They had something fucking good, and one way or another tossed it into the trash. This was a colossal, mutual fuck-up. And they never even talked about it.
To have been so careless with handling something so special, it has a hot fiery frustration pokes at his eyes. How fucking irresponsible and unheroic of them, to not find a single thing to fight for when it’s all right here. Criminal.
“But why?”
Because Bakugou has racked his brain for a reason and can’t find fucking one. Todoroki averts his eyes, voice low and hushed.
“Sometimes... there’s no reason. People drift away and things change. So you just let things go.”
A strangled laugh catches between Bakugou’s teeth. If this bastard is trying to sound wise, he’s failed. All that sits in those words is repressed pain and longing that Bakugou can’t pretend isn’t there. Let things go.
“What’s so funny about that?” Todoroki snaps, a bite in his words that wasn’t there before.
So he’s angry. That confirms it.
“Everything.” Throwing his head back against the seat, Bakugou bares his teeth. Before he can stop himself, he strikes. He’s angry too.
“I didn’t expect you to half-ass this shit again.”
Fuck the fucking fuck!
Bakugou can almost hear Deku’s aggravated sigh and Kirishima’s ‘that was not manly dude…’ in his mind. Ugh. The dumbasses sitting on his shoulder are right. He deserves the reprimand, playing dirty and low with words designed to hurt.
There’s no truth to them, either. Todoroki approached their relationship with the same determination he held for every aspect of himself. He always tried, he always had been doing his best. Bakugou had too. They’d been a pretty good team.
On days where the magic of living your childhood dreams was lost, Todoroki had rekindled the sparks with slow kisses and tenderness. A beacon in all the grey, guiding him back to land. Bakugou had learnt the exact force Todoroki shut the front door with when things had become too much and festered inside him. They had each other’s backs.
And when days were bright and blazing, Todoroki’s light had been blinding. To fall into it had been euphoric.
So it doesn’t feel good, the absence of it all. There’s no vindication in being the person to put such a fucking tormented look on Todoroki’s face. But he did it anyway, without consideration for anything besides his withering dignity.
Todoroki pulls up outside the hotel. It’s an American-style, a large Manor House with too many rooms repurposed for something else. Sitting just outside the swell of the city, there’s more green surrounding the place. Bakugou remembers Deku harping on about some award-winning gardens.
The thrum of the engine disappears as Todoroki turns the key. They’re plunged into a cold silence that is merciless in making itself known. Taking a breath, Bakugou shifts in his seat.
“Listen - I didn’t mean that shit, okay?” he grumbles. “I was just being a fucking asshole, I shouldn’t have said that.”
The lack of a response just affirms it. No playful quip or stern agreement. Todoroki could even be petty and awful about it. Hell, now they’re parked out the hotel he could quite literally kick him to kerb. But he doesn’t choose that path.
Steam sizzles from his hands. It’s not enough to burn the steering wheel, but it’s enough to notice. His eyes remain fixed on the road they’re no longer driving on with sharp intensity.
Bakugou unclicks his seatbelt. And whilst having no intention of leaving just yet, the sound is jarring enough for both of them. Todoroki moves fast. He grabs Bakugou by the shirt, as if afraid one of them will bolt and run.
“I’m trying.”
Todoroki’s voice is almost lost to things too big to name. His eyes dart over to Bakugou. There’s a desperation in them that hangs heavy.
“You’ve been reminiscing our relationship the entire time, but unless you tell me what you mean by all of this I won’t know.”
“Yeah well, it takes two to fucking tango.”
For that, Bakugou is granted a withering look. He deserves it.
“We have never danced the tango in our life. That has never happened. You can barely waltz.”
Putting his ballroom dance skills on blast even in private is uncool as fuck. Arms folding, Bakugou huffs.
“It’s an expression, idiot.”
“I’m aware, but it’s ill-fitting.”
Bakugou reconsiders. “The horizontal h-“
“-What do you want, Bakugou?” interjects Todoroki, exasperation plagues the words.
Bakugou.
That’s it. That’s the catalyst to it all. His own fucking name, spoken like an afterthought. Fuck closure. Bakugou tugs Todoroki closer, flicking the stupid cap off his head with a snap of his fingers. He wants to see the brightness of those eyes, not the shadows in them.
“I don’t want to step out this car, and never see you again. I don’t want it to be fucking years until we talk. And I don’t want the only reason to be we even meet is because our annoying friends set us up. That’s just bullshit!”
Smacking a hand down on the dashboard, Bakugou fails to swallow down the pitiful noise rising up his throat. The dam breaks. So much for holding back the rain.
“You hear me?! Bullshit.”
That in turn breaks resolve in Todoroki, or strengthens it enough for him to take action. Todoroki's hands slip up, cupping Bakugou’s face with trembling palms.
“I know. It is. I know it is.”
His voice sounds too wild, lost in itself. Stripped down and naked, the words shake.
“Katsuki…”
Voice dipping low, Bakugou ducks his head. Todoroki cranes forwards to chase every word with his mouth. Their lips catch at the corners.
“I don’t know why it ended up this way but it sucks. Fuck. Shouto.”
They’re close, closer than they’ve been for years. It’s overwhelming, and right. So fucking right.
“Katsuki…” breathes Todoroki, as if it’s the only word he knows and the only word he wants to know.
Bakugou nudges Todoroki’s forehead, lips trailing up his cheek.
“Spit it out already.”
The almost kiss has Bakugou feeling giddy and a big ridiculous grin threatening to break over his face. But he’s speaking into skin, and every curve of his lips reveals far too much. Todoroki angles his head to the side, hands sliding into Bakugou’s hair.
“I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. Seeing you again, I know without a doubt that’s true.”
Noses bumping, Bakugou pushes their foreheads together. Todoroki caresses the hair curling at Bakugou’s neck. Right here and now, they’re glimpsing fucking paradise.
Bakugou tucks his head into Todoroki’s shoulder. The moisture in his eyes is difficult to blink away. Every heartstring is frayed and pulled taut. It’s a lot.
“I don’t -“ he starts, voice cracking. He tries again. “I can’t walk away from this again.”
There’s the press of lips against forehead, firm and unyielding.
“Then don’t.”
“You okay with that?”
“Yes.” Todoroki leans further across the space. A honeyed smile stretches across his face. “Definitely. I am okay with that. More than okay with that. Truly. That-“
Rolling his eyes, Bakugou yanks Todoroki over the seat.
“-How many different ways you gonna say it? I get it. Stop ruining the moment and kiss me.”
Sprawled messily across the car like a bunch idiots drunk and dizzy love, their lips brush with the faintest of pressure. One kiss, both too much and not enough at once.
Then Todoroki tilts his head back, and utters the biggest mood killer of the fucking century.
“Midoriya…”
“Uh,” momentarily startled, Bakugou lifts his chin to shoot him a scathing glance. “Excuse you, asshole?”
“No. I mean,” Todoroki has the audacity to look amused as he points behind Bakugou’s head. “Midoriya.”
He turns slowly, almost too resigned to see confirmation of how unfair this day has been. Sure enough, the nerd is hovering on the hotel steps. Right there. He gives a nervous wave when Bakugou catches his eyes, cheeks dusted pink. Untangling himself from Todoroki, Bakugou grunts.
He rolls the window down. Deku takes that as an invitation to bound towards the car. Wrong move fucker - checkmate.
“Fuck the fuck off!!!” Bakugou yells, head leaning out the window.
Back in the driver’s seat, Todoroki snorts. Unfazed, Deku skips closer. He looks pleased with himself.
“You started this and you won’t even let us finish it?!”
“Finish?” Todoroki pokes his head out from behind Bakugou to give Deku a wave that’s ridiculously cute and unnecessary. How dare he fraternise with the scheming devious freckle-faced enemy. “We aren’t finishing anything, I thought we were starting again.”
Damn this. Deku blinks at the words, a bright smile stretching over his face. Of course he heard that.
“Figure of speech, bastard,” Bakugou hisses over his shoulder, ducking his head to hide the flush of heat rising up his neck.
God. Shit. They’re really doing this.
Todoroki fetches the bags from the trunk, like some fucking chauffeur. Bakugou takes the opportunity to corner his partner in heroics before he can make another getaway. No escaping this time, fucker. He prods Deku in the chest, eyes narrowed.
“You’re paying for our fancy dinner tonight and every other fucking night on this trip, just so you know.”
Deku flounders, tongue tripping over excuses Bakugou has great satisfaction rebuffing. Those green eyes are wide enough to swallow the rest of his face up. But that kicked puppy act doesn’t work on Bakugou, he’s immune.
“Well,” starts Todoroki weakly.
He drops the bags on the ground by Bakugou's feet, biting the inside of his cheek. It doesn’t explain why he starts to talk like the navigation device programmed into the car.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
Clearing his throat, Todoroki offers a small wave of his hand. His eyes jump between the pair of them, settling on Bakugou.
“See you in Japan.”
What the fuck.
Before he can stop himself, he's shaking with laughter. God. It’s absurd. Tugging Todoroki closer, Bakugou grins. The heat bubbling beneath his skin is light, tickling his chest.
“See you in Japan? That’s how you plan saying goodbye to your boyfriend and stupid best friend?”
“Midoriya isn’t stupid.”
Todoroki talks like a noble prince on a white horse defending an innocent peasant from unwarranted scorn. But his cheeks are flushed, their proximity clearly flustering him a little. So Bakugou will let it the fucking audacity slide, just this once.
Behind them, Deku devolves into tearful mumbling of how pleased he is that Todoroki considers him his best friend. As if he has no idea about the fact Todoroki has believed the sun shines straight out of Deku’s ass since school. Maybe he doesn’t know. God. Cursed to be surrounded by idiots for all eternity.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you are, Midoriya. Even if you cannot keep out of people’s business.”
He may have forgiven Deku for meddling, but Bakugou is not so lenient. The nerd’s eyes light up with mischief at the reminder. Not so remorseful anymore huh.
“But to be a hero is to-“
“-Try and finish that sentence. I'll leak your mixtape online.”
“You have a mixtape?” Todoroki asks, interest piqued. He sounds far too genuine and earnest, probably already prepared to support Deku in his climb up the musical rankings alongside the hero ones.
“I- I don’t!” Confused, Deku scratches his cheek. “I have no idea what Kacchan is talking about!”
“Oi. Smile or something,” Bakugou says to Todoroki, holding his phone to snap a quick photo.
A hand rests on his back, warmer than it needs to be. It’s a deliberate heat, as taunting as it is teasing. Bakugou pinches Todoroki’s waist in response, pressing their faces closer together.
“Behave,” warns Todoroki as if he wasn’t the one to start it.
Bakugou snorts. His teeth drag past Todoroki's ear.
“Make me.”
“Later, maybe…” Todoroki trails off, eyes on the camera, lips twitching.
Amusement simmers between them. Bakugou leans his head on Todoroki’s shoulder, glancing down at the photo. It’s cute as fuck. Against his better judgement, Bakugou sends it to the group chat Kirishima added him to, promptly turns his phone on silent. Figures those nosy shits probably want to know.
“I don’t understand,” Deku laments in the near distance, still caught up in his own head. “I don’t have a mixtape?”
Bakugou smirks over his shoulder.
“Not yet you don’t, bitch.”
If it sounds more like a threat, then good. The world would eat up a shitty recording of Deku singing a tribute to All Might in the shower. Fishing the keys from Todoroki’s back pocket, Bakugou makes his way towards the car.
“Come the fuck on, let’s park up properly and get dinner. I ain’t waking up to a ticket.”
Deku hops into the backseat like an excited loser. Todoroki actually takes a moment to consider his seating options in the car before climbing in next to Deku. Of fucking course. Who knows how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other either. Deku and himself have been pretty much non-stop for months with their work. Bakugou’s barely managed to pin down enough time to call Kirishima.
The fact Deku was even willing to delay meeting Todoroki so he and Bakugou could have time together really fucks him up inside.
Selfless nerd.
“Ready?”
Bakugou watches them in buckle up in the view mirror. His heart flips when Todoroki casts him a content smile, the kind that curls lazy across his mouth. The deep ache in his bones subsides, and all of Bakugou is returned home.
“Ready.”
Returned to him.